Author's Note: Wow, my first poetry piece I've ever written with a meaning to it. The only poetry I've ever written was the stuff I was forced to in class, so this is my first real poetry. I don't really like poetry, writing or reading but decided to share this with you!
This piece doesn't relate to me at all. Not to my life or emotions, but with drama on Whyville and things like that. I just wrote this randomly two weeks or so ago.
Tick, tock, tick, tock
He waits
The thrill chills his spine,
pacing up and down the stairs
looking at the glowing screen
waiting
tick, tock, tick, tock
for the pin to drop,
and the thread to slowly fall,
to pick and poke at each loose thread
It used to be a sweater, now it's one, big, hopeless ball
he waits
the clock is still ticking
tick tock, tick tock
he isn't finished yet
it's not over till every strand is gone
pacing up and down the stairs, waiting
names,
voices,
fake
His satisfaction
is the blood curdling scream you hear of taunts
and those evil laughs
waiting
the last drop of blood is the finest
